


untouchable.

by lordvoldyfarts



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3934192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordvoldyfarts/pseuds/lordvoldyfarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>titanic au. clarke is a misfit artist. lexa is an unhappy socialite. they both find themselves aboard the RMS titanic, searching for something that might equal freedom. they find each other. it takes them four days to fall in love. it takes the boat less than that to sink. not every love story has a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. untouchable, like a distant diamond sky.

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the warnings! major character death does occur. not in this part, but in the future. please be aware.

They’re miles below sea level. Two and a half, to be exact. The pressure is three tons per square inch, and Jasper knows that if the windows succumb to that pressure….boom. They’re done in seconds. Luckily, he’s spent more than his fair share of time beneath the water, inside this very submarine, and he knows what its walls can withstand.

(Much more than the walls of the ship he’s dedicated the past three years of his life studying could that's for sure.)

They’re only a few feet away from the carcass of the RMS Titanic. It rests on the bottom of the Atlantic, its former glory completely dissipated. Though Jasper often finds that _true_ glory comes from what you can salvage from the beneath the wreckage.

He knows that glory is finding the Heart of the Ocean. The rare blue diamond that will _make_ his career. It doesn’t matter that he’s spent three years searching the bottom of the ocean floor surrounding the wreckage of the Titanic, attempting to find it, and has thus far come up completely empty. He knows it’s out there. And he _will_ find it so he can finally kiss his millions hello.

He turns to his partner, Monty Green, and points the joystick next to where his foot is resting. He’s reclined against the chair, flipping through the picture book Jasper had gotten him last year for Christmas, containing all of the shots they’d taken over the past few years. He’d given it as more of a gag gift, but Monty really seemed to appreciate it.

“Fire her up, Green.” Jasper says and Monty gives him a salute, reaching down and putting his hand on the joystick, beginning to the move the electronically operated arm to get them through the doorway of ship.

They head to what Jasper knows to be the Promenade Suite, one of the most luxurious living quarters on the whole ship. They pass an unbroken champagne bottle, china, and the skull of a child that, mysteriously, looks as if it’d been fused onto the doll body that lays beneath it. Maybe Jasper should know better by now than to look at the sand in in-between spaces like this one. The remains of the passengers never fail to make his stomach churn.

They spend a few moments combing through the settled sand once they finally reach the suite. In the middle of one of the bedrooms, surrounded by a porcelain tub, the remains of a wardrobe, and many other things that point to the grandiose and gratuitous nature of whomever occupied this room, is a wooden door. “Monty, lift it. I want to see what’s underneath.” Jasper says, leaning in over Monty’s shoulder to get close to the screen. Monty moves the arm, grasping it onto the edge of the door, lifting it to reveal a safe.

A fucking safe. Jasper’s eyes light up and he points to the screen, a grin on his face. “It’s payday, Monty.” He murmurs, though with quite a bit of excitement.

“Hope so, Boss.” Monty replies, grabbing onto the safe with the claw.

Jasper watches with a giant smile on his face.

This is it.

-

This _isn’t_ it.

All that’s in the safe is a bunch of old notebooks and money that most certainly cannot be used in his favor. He’s frustrated. He thought _for sure_ that this was going to be it. Everything made sense. They were in one of the most luxurious and expensive rooms on the whole ship. There was a _safe_.

How could this not be it?

He has one of his hands shoved in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette as he leans over the railing of the boat. Three fucking years on a boat and not a goddamn thing to show for it. This was his last shot. If they didn’t find this thing by the end of the year, their benefactors were going to stop funding them. He needed to find it. Otherwise he’d be absolutely, completely, fucked. He’d put his all into this. Finding this diamond. He’d let Maya fucking divorce him because of this. If he never found the necklace, all of this would be a moot point. He’d have lost his wife for goddamn nothing.

His cigarette is nearly finished, the last of the ashes falling down into the water. From behind him he hears feet, very frantically, running toward him. He turns head to see Monty, nearly out of breath, grinning. “Boss, you have to see this.” He says and Jasper raises an eyebrow. He figures it’s probably just a bill from the restaurant. That’s all it was the _last_ time Monty had excitedly ran to the front of the deck to get him. They walk side by side, Monty excitedly talking with hands. “We were going through all of the papers from the safe, figuring we might find something interesting, and Boss, this might be it.” He says and now Jasper’s interest is piqued. His heart rate speeds up the faster he hears Monty speak.

They arrive in the back room where most of the crew is gathered around something that Jasper can’t see. Monty starts to push through the crowd and Jasper follows. The last person, who is standing directly in front of what Jasper presumes Monty wants him to see, peels off and claps Jasper on the shoulder. Jasper, slowly, takes a step toward the table.

It’s a drawing, of a nude woman with the initials C.G. drawn on the bottom, but that’s not the interesting part.

Resting on her chest is the diamond. Monty steps up next to Jasper. “There she is.” He says and Jasper shakes his head.

“There she is.” He echoes, his vision focusing in on the drawing of the diamond. It’s the closest he’s been to finding it in years.

If only he could find the woman in the picture.

-

She’s in her bedroom, her knitting resting on her lap. She’s only half-paying attention to it, most of her attention is on her _very_ pregnant Granddaughter, who is cooking in the kitchen. “Octavia dear, please be careful. Don’t burn yourself.” She yells, or she tries to. Her voice isn’t as strong as it used to be though it still carries far enough for Octavia to peek up, a half-smile on her face.

“Oh don’t worry about me, Grandma. I’m fine. You should get some rest though. Dinner won’t be ready for another hour.” She says and Lexa waves her hand in Octavia’s direction.

“Absolutely not. I must finish this before you go into labor. Your baby needs something warm and cozy to come home in.” She murmurs and Octavia smiles, something close to waddling over to where Lexa’s wheelchair is.

“You’ve already knitted me three hats and a blanket. Trust me, this kid is all set.” Octavia says with a smirk. Lexa shakes her head.

“There is no such thing.” She murmurs, picking up the needles again. Octavia rolls her eyes, though with no malice, and leans up.

“Do you want the TV on at least? I’m not good company while I wait for lasagna to cook.” Octavia says and Lexa nods dismissively. The background noise will be fine enough company, though she knows it won’t quite keep her attention. Nothing quite does anymore.

Octavia leaves the news on and she walks back to the kitchen, leaving Lexa to her knitting.

She’s distracted, quite quickly, by the pictures resting on her vanity. There are quite a few, Lexa always being one to attempt to document everything. She never wanted to miss a thing. She sighs. Still, there are few pictures she _wished_ she’d even been able to take.

Her ears perk when she hears the word ‘Titanic’ from the news caster in the background. She turns her attention to the television where two young men are holding up a picture. “We’re hoping to find the woman in this picture. If anybody has any leads on where we may be able to find her, please call us. We figure she may want this back.” And then the camera zooms in on the face in the drawing and Lexa’s needles from her between her wrinkled fingers. Her eyes are wide and she can barely even believe it.  Shakily, she says,

“Octavia, could you please bring me the telephone?”

-

Jasper stands underneath the helicopter, which is mostly lowering supplies this go round, when Monty comes out to him with that familiar grin and says, “Phone call for you.” And Jasper rolls his eyes and gestures to the propellers above him, which is making it nearly impossible to hear _anything_ at all, let alone a crackly voice over the phone.

“I’m a little busy, Monty, can it wait?” He asks and Monty just shakes his head.

“I think you’re going to want to take this one, Boss.”He says and Jasper sighs. He waves the helicopter down and walks to the phone that sits on the deck. He holds the phone up to his ear,

“Hello?” He says and there’s silence on the other end for a few moments and Jasper is sure this is just some kind of prank fabricated by Monty to fuck with him when he hears the clearing of a throat. “What can I do for you, Mrs….?”

“Woods.” The voice on the other end replies.

“Alright, Mrs. Woods, what can I do for you?” He repeats.

“Tell me, Mr. Jordan, have you found the Heart of the Ocean yet?” And then Jasper’s ears perk up and looks at Monty with a curious expression. Monty just mouths the words ‘told you’ at him.

“Alright, you have my attention. Do you know who the woman in the drawing is?” He asks, his heart racing. There’s a chuckle from the other end.

“Of course I do, Mr. Jordan. The woman in the drawing is me.”

-

Monty tries to convince him that she’s a liar. That the woman she claimed to be, Alexandria Woodward, died on the boat. There was no further record of her after the sinking. And _this_ woman, Lexa _Woods_ , while possessing an eerily similar last name, worked as an actress in Los Angeles in the 20’s, and really that should be Jasper’s first clue not to trust her.

He silences Monty by saying that everybody who knows about the diamond, and its worth, either died in the sinking of the Titanic or is on this boat. He needs to know what she has to say.

-

She doesn’t quite feel like being back on a boat but it’s the only way they’ll meet with her. She wishes she had the energy she used to, she would argue with them. Especially given that the only method of _getting_ to the ship itself is helicopter and there’s not a lot of her that wants to put her nearly nine month pregnant Granddaughter on a helicopter.

But Octavia insists. She won’t leave Lexa by herself to fly over the the Atlantic though it’s clear from her tone of voice that she doesn’t quite believe the story that Lexa has given her about the reason they’re flying over the ocean in the first place.

She’s in her wheelchair and they have to wheel her off of the plane. She has her dog tucked into the pocket of her jacket, the wind from the helicopter blowing through both of their hair.

She’s greeted directly by Jasper, who shakes her hand and takes over for….whoever is pushing her wheelchair presently. He is speaking and she can’t quite hear him so she lifts a hand to quiet him down. He appears to get the message because there’s no muffled sound from behind her until they get inside, the noises from the outside finally quieting.

He leads her to a stateroom and leaves her be, with Octavia, who begins to unpack her things. Lexa’s hand drags across the top of the dogs head, quieting him.

It takes no more than ten minutes for Jasper to return, inquiring about the quality of her room. “It’ll do.” She replies, dismissively. She wants to remind him that she’d once been aboard the Titanic. No stateroom could ever quite compare to those she’d been in back then but maybe now isn’t the appropriate time.

Octavia is unloading quite a few photographs and putting them on the vanity in front of them. “Nice pictures.” Jasper says, gesturing toward them with his head. Lexa’s smiles, slightly.

“I have to take them when I travel.” She says, offering no more of an explanation than that. “Octavia has quite a bit of practice unloading them.” Lexa says, looking back toward Octavia with a smile.

“Can I get anything for you?” Jasper asks and Lexa looks up. She knows exactly what she wants. It’s the only reason she’s even here.

“I’d very much like to see my drawing.” She says, tilting her chin up.

Jasper nods. Lexa knows that really, that’s what he wants too. He wants some kind of explanation about the diamond and its whereabouts.

She’s not quite ready to give away those details, not yet, but her heart speeds up at the thought of seeing the picture again in person. It’s been….too long since she’s had the pleasure of viewing it and from what she remembers, it’s truly exquisite. Possibly the only image to ever capture her in the correct way and she’s posed for many a pictures in her 100 years of life.

She’s wheeled into a room, a preservation room if her instincts tell her correctly.

They place her right in front the image, where it is still submersed in water. “Until we find a way to preserve it, we have to keep it in the water. Soon, ideally.” Jasper says and Lexa barely even hears him.

It looks exactly as she’d remembered it. She looks exactly as she remembered.

Her hands are framing her face, her long curly hair down and cascading across her shoulders, her breasts pert and beautiful, her stomach flat and without stretch marks that come from childbirth.

She was right - it is the only image that ever captured her perfectly. And she knows why - she does. The artist saw her in a way that nobody else ever had. As she truly was.

“Exactly as I remember it.” She murmurs and she wishes that she could reach out and touch it, drag her fingers across the charcoal lines. Absorb some of the memories, some of the feelings. Bring herself back to the moment she was draped naked across the couch of her stateroom, squinting eyes staring at her while she tries her best not to move or even smile.

There are tears pushing at the backs of her eyes and she can’t cry, not yet, not before everybody else in the room understands exactly why this image is so important.

It’s time to tell her story. No more hiding. No more pretending. Time to tell the truth.

Time to do exactly what _she_ would have wanted her to do.

“Grandma, do you really think this is you?” Octavia asks, sounding skeptical and she can understand why. She’s obviously changed quite a bit in the last 84 years, the only wrinkles on her coming from the old paper in the image across from them. She looks up at Octavia with a raised eyebrow.

“It is me, darling.” She pauses and there’s a small smirk that makes its way across her face. “That necklace felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Incredibly uncomfortable.” She murmurs. “This is the only time I wore it. Any other time and it would have felt like….like an anchor, keeping me in place.” She continues and she barely notices the looks being exchanged above her.

“Someone made an insurance claim for it a while back. Very hush hush. Do you have any idea who would have been interested enough to make a claim for it, Mrs. Woods?” Jasper asks and Lexa’s lips purse.

“Someone with the last name Collins, I’d be inclined to believe.” She says and Jasper’s eyes light up. He nods and swings himself around so his hips are resting against the table and he leans forward, his arms crossed.

“Cal Collins. For the necklace his son, Finn, allegedly bought for his fiancee, you,  somewhere in Paris about a week before the Titanic set sail. The claim was filed not three days after the ship went down. It’s assumed that the diamond went down with this ship.” Jasper says and Lexa has to fight the urge roll her eyes. “Look at the date on this drawing. April 14th, 1912. The day she went down.” He says, his eyes glazing over perhaps more than even Lexa’s had. “Which means, you were wearing the diamond the day the ship went down, Mrs. Woods.” Lexa nods.

“Excellent observational skills, Mr. Jordan.” Lexa quips and he laughs.

“Anything you can tell me would be incredibly appreciated. I’ll compensate you for any valuable information you give.” He says and Lexa waves a hand.

“Don’t bother. I don’t need money.” She says and Jasper raises an eyebrow.

“You’re going to hand over information without any kind of incentive?” He asks and Lexa nods.

“I know how awful the thought of giving up money is to a person so hungry for it, Mr. Jordan. I wouldn’t dare ask you to hand over anything of the fortune I suspect you desire.” She says and Jasper goes quiet for a moment. Lexa knows men like him. His motives are completely unsurprising to her. “Give me the drawing. That’s all I ask.” She says and Jasper can’t do anything but nod. There’s silence for another moment and then Monty clears his throat.

“Over here, we have some other things we recovered from your stateroom. Not all of it is valuable, I’m sure, but you can take a look.” He says and walks over to wheel her over to the table.

On the table, Lexa spots so many pieces she recognizes. Her mother’s brooch that she desperately wanted to go back for. A butterfly comb that she’d worn in her hair the night the drawing was done. And a mirror. She reaches for that first. She smiles. dragging her fingers over the handle. “Incredible. I swear, it looks exactly as it did all those years ago. I had no idea the ocean was so remarkably good at preserving items.” She says, putting it down slowly.

She goes for the butterfly comb next, her stomach falling as she remembers the last time she’d worn it. Her chin is quivering as she slides it between her fingers. She feels it all at once - the things she’s been suppressing for over 80 years. She’s shaken from her reverie though, when Jasper says,

“Are you ready to go back to the Titanic?”

She isn’t. She’s sure she never will be. But now is the time.

-

They go into a dark room, some of the screens lit up with pictures of the wreckage that lies on the bottom of the ocean. There’s a photograph of the bow of the ship and Lexa’s eyes soften at it, a sigh escaping her. The picture changes quickly though, not leaving her much time to dwell on it.

“We have the largest database in all of the world on the Titanic. We know nearly everything there is to know with evidence to support it, from exact measurements and a few copies of the initial plans for the ship, to personal effects from passengers. We were able to recover a few skulls as well.” He says with enthusiasm and Lexa does her best not to flinch. She wishes they would leave the dead to rest. Despite their lives ending in absolute chaos, they deserve to rest in undisturbed peace. She hopes the soul of whoever’s skull they took from its resting place is at peace if the body cannot be. She keeps her mouth closed though, letting the men ramble on about something that they are clearly very passionate about.

It’s strange to see people so….enraptured by the sinking of the ship. Titanic had always been something of ‘big news’, making headlines even before it set sail. She supposes the ship will never stop making headlines. Something Ismay would likely be happy about, if he were around to see it.

“We’ve developed a simulation of how she went down, if you’d like to see it?” Monty asks and Jasper hits him on the shoulder.

“She was there, Monty. I doubt she’d want to relive it.” Jasper says through a clenched jaw. Lexa just shrugs and waves a hand in their direction.

“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Jordan. I actually am quite curious to see what you have.” She replies calmly and Monty’s eyes light up. He turns to his computer, bringing something up and Octavia turns to her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t need to do this, Grandma. I can take you to go rest or out onto the deck for some fresh air.” She says, practically pleading and Lexa looks up at Octavia with a raised eyebrow.

“Darling, I have spent enough of my lifetime on the decks of ships. I’m glad to stay in here and watch the simulation these gentlemen have constructed.” She points out and Octavia blushes.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. If you want to go back to your room, at any point, just let me know, okay?” She says and Lexa nods.

“Of course, dear.” She says as the simulation appears on the screen, slowly zooming in. The iceberg is clearly visible. Lexa watches as the simulation Titanic grazes the iceberg, putting holes in the bow of the ship. “She hits the iceberg just before midnight. Grazes the side, punching holes it in as goes along. Water starts to fill the front compartments, where the holes are, and it’s fast. So quick it practically happens in the blink of an eye. The bow goes down and the stern goes up and it keeps going until the hull can’t support all of the weight. It had to be 20 or 30 thousand tons. It can’t handle all of that so it completely splits. The bow side goes down and the weight makes the stern go completely vertical until the bow half detaches. When it does, it goes straight down, and hits the ocean floor at speeds of about 12 miles an hour. The stern side bobs there like a cork in the water for a few minutes until finally, that goes down too at about 2:20 am. The stern implodes in on itself as it goes down, combusting and spreading debris everywhere across the ocean floor, landing like a pile of junk.” Monty explains, speaking quickly. Lexa’s face is blank. She’s very careful not to say or do anything with her face that might give away how _hard_ this is to watch. How she feels herself gripping onto the railings of the stern side as it bobs and how she felt like that night was the night her life was ending.

“Excellent analysis, Mr. Green. Though, the actual event was much less….clinical.” Lexa explains and then Jasper is leaning in.

“Will you tell us about it?” He asks and Lexa takes a deep breath, steeling her shoulders.

She wonders if she’d have the strength. If she’d be able to do it.

Flashes of memories from the final night run through her head. A toddler crying, standing ankle deep in the water, too far away for her to reach. Men in navy blue suits yelling, “Women and children only!”, the orchestra playing until the ship went under, and endless row of doorways. Her eyes flutter closed.

Octavia sighs. “No, I’m taking her to rest. She needs to rest.” She says and she grabs the back of Lexa’s wheelchair, beginning to wheel her out of the room when strongly, Lexa says,

“No.” Octavia stops. “No. I’ve kept quiet long enough. It’s time to tell this story.” Lexa says.

“The floor is yours.” Jasper says and Lexa’s eyes flutter closed again.

“It’s been 84 years….” She trails off and Jasper interrupts,

“Don’t force yourself, only tell us what you can recall.” And Lexa glares at him.

“It’s been 84 years. I can still smell the fresh paint. Hear the Grandfather clock ticking. Feel the sea breeze against my face. Feel the sheets that had never once been used across my skin.” She pauses, opening her eyes.

“The Titanic was called the ship of dreams. And it was. It truly was.”

-

 _April 10th, 1912_.

It’s warm - for April, at least. Her pinstriped dress covers her arms and the brim of her large purple hat shields her from the sun.

She’s still sitting in the backseat of the car, her hands folded in her lap. They’re gloved so no unnecessary bit of skin is showing. She knows that if her Mother had her way, she’d be covered from head to toe. She’s sure Finn feels quite the same way.

He is out of the car before she is. He raises a hand and she stares at it for a moment, taking a deep breath. She always has to prepare herself before she reaches down and grabs his hand. Doesn’t stop her skin from crawling whenever she does, though.

Lexa only keeps hold of his hand long enough for her to step out of the car and put her feet on land. She pulls her hand from his grasp as quickly as she can. She turns to the boat, which is just a few feet from them and she looks up at it, unimpressed. “Is this it? It doesn’t look any larger than the Mauretania.” She says. Finn rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lexa. Titanic is over 100 feet larger than the Mauretania. And far more luxurious. Safer, too, if you ask me.” Finn explains, offering Lexa his arm as they begin to walk and Lexa wishes she could drag her feet. She wishes she could run back to the car and lock herself inside of the doors. Anything to get away from this.

But she can’t. So she loops her arm through his. She’s careful to avoid looking at him. People are running all around her, free to move at will, and she wonders what that must be like. What it must feel like to run and feel the earth beneath her feet, never worrying about yanking the chain that keeps her tethered to the fate she doesn’t desire.

She supposes she’ll never know. Though it never hurts to dream.

“For all of the hype surrounding this boat, this had better be the most luxurious and beautiful ship I have ever been on!” Says a voice from behind Lexa. Finn turns his head to smile at her Mother.

“I assure you, Mrs. Woodward, it absolutely will be. She’s the greatest vessel this century has ever seen. I suspect it won’t see another quite like her any time soon. Safest, most durable ship to touch these waters. She won’t go down.” Finn says with confidence and Lexa finds herself wishing that untrue. Perhaps being on a capsizing ship in the middle of the Atlantic would give her a good enough reason not to marry Finn.

Lexa’s mother catches up to the pair of them, keeping her arms close to her body. She turns her nose up at the people running on the deck. Most of them look to be of a lower class, their dirty and ratty clothing giving them away. Mrs. Woodward keeps her purse tucked close to her body as she warily glances around the deck. “Mr. Collins, I do wish you hadn’t made these plans so last minute,” She begins, crinkling her nose as a small child swipes past her, bumping into the edge of her dress, “So we may have boarded with our….travel companions.” She finishes, careful to avoid saying exactly what Lexa knows that she means. So they could have avoided boarding where the third class board. So they could have boarded without being ‘tainted’ by the lower class citizens.

“Oh, Mother, relax. Poverty isn't contagious,” Lexa quips and her Mother’s eyes rise and harden.

“Alexandria,” She says, her tone one of warning. Lexa keeps her eyes locked on her Mother’s for as long as she can before she’s forced to look down. Her Mother takes a few more careful steps toward her, gripping the top of her arm. “It will do you well to be respectful and polite. This is your last chance,” She nearly hisses and Lexa’s nostrils flare. She knows that. Nobody has let her forget it in the six months since she’s become engaged to be the new Mrs. Finn Collins. Since the rock that feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds was put on her finger. She suspects nobody ever _will_ let her forget. Maybe she deserves to always remember.

The clock strikes nearly 11. They’re five minutes away from setting sail and they just barely make it through the doors of the ship.

“Just in the nick of time,” Finn exclaims and Lexa detaches her arm from his. She can’t bear to grip it any longer. Lexa’s Mother flashes another quick warning glance toward her. She pretends she doesn’t see it. “Of course, we’d have arrived earlier, had Lexa not decided to complete her full beauty regime twice,” Finn continues and it’s phrased as if it’s meant to be a joke but Lexa knows him well enough by now to hear the malice beneath it. She shrugs.

“You told me to change,” She mutters, glancing around the extravagant room. There’s large gold plated clock resting above the fireplace. She wonders if the rest of the ship is this grand.

“You were wearing black, Lexa. It’s bad luck to wear black on sailing day, you know that,” Finn says, explaining his request. Lexa shrugs again.

“I felt like black,” She replies, looking over her shoulder to one of the butlers whose name she can’t quite place. “Show me to my room,” She says and it’s phrased much more like a demand than a request but she figures that she might as well give orders while she still can. Before the right to do so is stripped away from her and she has to live her life with a permanent stocking in her mouth.

The ship may be beautiful, and it may be labelled as ‘the ship of dreams’, but to Lexa it feels like slave ship, bringing her to her permanent prison. A life as Mrs. Finn Collins.

She wonders if thinking that name will ever stop making her feel like she’s suffocating. She suspects not.

She’s barely out of the Great Room when she bumps into someone. They’re wearing suspenders and a cap, that Lexa nearly knocks off. She glances up momentarily and her green eyes meet blue and for a moment, her breath hitches.

“Pardon to you too, Miss!” A voice calls, gruffly, from next to the person Lexa has bumped into and Lexa rolls her eyes. She straightens her back and looks away from the person across from her, pulling the brim of her hat down over her eyes.

“Keep moving,” She murmurs to the man who is carrying her things as she turns away from the pair. He nods.

“Of course, Miss,” He replies.

She wonders if the boat has started to move yet when she feels her stomach flip.

-

She’s got her hair tucked beneath a cap, the cards tucked securely between her thumb and forefinger. She glances around, reading the room as best as she can. The man across from her is squinting at his cards, his knee bouncing. His tell. He doesn’t have anything worth being concerned about. The only other person still in the game has been the hardest to read all afternoon. Clarke hasn’t been able to tell what he’s had in his hand since they’ve started playing. Clarke quirks an eyebrow at Wells, who subtly nods.

This is their last shot. If they can’t win this, win these tickets, they’re done for.

There won’t be any way for them to get back to America. The two tickets sitting in the middle of the table are the best, and only, shot. She can’t afford to get across the ocean by herself. She’d barely been able to scrape up enough money to get to Paris. She’d never anticipated leaving but….well, things happen.

And home is where she needs to be.

(And she can pretend she’s not going back to lick her wounds - that she’s not running back with her tail between her legs just as her Mother said that she would. There are _reasons_ and they’re better than her wounded pride. That’s what she tells herself.)

She bites down on her lip as Wells says, “Hit him again,” And so the dealer does. She does her best not to smirk. She gestures to the middle of the table, where the dealer is sitting, indicating that she’s finished.

“Put ‘em down boys,” He says and they start across the table. Nothing. Nothing. A two pair. It’s her turn. She smiles now. She lays the hand down.

A full house.

The boys across from her lean back in their chairs, dragging their hands down their faces and Clarke scoops up the tickets from the middle of the table before they have a chance to take them back. She fans them out in her hands and smirks, “Thanks for the tickets, boys,” She says, speaking for the first time since she’s arrived at the game. She watches as their eyes widen and she swears one of their jaws even drops. A perfect reaction. She looks to Wells, “Come on Wells, we’ve got 5 minutes before that ship leaves and it’s not going anywhere without us,” She says resolutely and Wells smiles. They start to run.

Vaguely, from behind her she hears, “You fucking lost to a girl. You gave our tickets away to a _girl_.” Clarke smiles to herself. The thrill of hearing the shock in boys’ voices when she reveals that a girl has just stripped them of their life savings and their dignity never quite gets old.

“Faster, Wells! I’m not letting this chance slip through my fingers because you couldn’t run fast enough,” Clarke yells over her shoulder, pushing past strangers. She won’t wait for him. If she has to get on that ship alone, she will. The only things standing in the way of Clarke and the future she’d always dreamed of were this massive crowd of people and Wells’ heavy feet.

The final horn sounds and they just manage to make it to the bottom of the ramp.

An officer in navy is detaching the ramp from the ship and Clarke’s eyes widen. No. It can’t leave. She runs up the ramp, flashing the tickets at the Officer. “Let us on! We’re passengers,” She exclaims, slightly out of breath. Wells finally sidles up next to her. He nods. The officer narrows his eyes and takes a step back, away from Wells. Clarke’s fists clench and her nostrils flare. They don’t have time for this.

“Have you been inspected?” He asks, focusing particularly closely on Wells. For his credit, Wells stands tall and doesn’t back down from the heavy glance. Clarke steps in front of him, waving the tickets once again.

“We paid for these. Isn’t that all that matters?” She inquires. “We’re passengers. This boat hasn’t left yet and we have right to be on it when it does,” She says, forcefully.

Another officer whispers, “We’ve got to go. Just let them on,” And so the officer in front of them steps aside.

“Alright, come aboard,” He says, reluctantly and they have to jump over the empty space between the ramp and the ship. Clarke looks over her shoulder and she grabs Wells’ elbow.

“Let’s go,” She says and she jumps first, Wells close behind her.

The doors of the ship close and Clarke smiles, glancing around her. They fucking made it. It’s every bit as beautiful as she’d imagined it to be, though she’s sure everything surrounding her costs more money than she’d ever seen in her lifetime. She turns to Wells. “We’re the luckiest fucking people on this planet, Wells,” She exclaims, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He smirks and raises his hand to return the gesture.

“Not Lucky. Skilled,” He says, tipping his cap to her with his free hand. She laughs.

“They had no idea what they were doing. I’d have been able to beat them with my eyes closed.” She says, closing her eyes to hammer the statement home. As her eyes close, she feels herself bump into somebody. She snaps her eyes open.

The girl standing across from her is….stunning. She’s got a long, black and white pinstriped dress on, her purple hat large and obstructive. It hides most of her face, but the bit that Clarke can see, well, damn near takes her breath away. She doesn’t apologize but she meets Clarke’s gaze and Clarke is shocked by the beautiful green of them. Wells, offended on her behalf says,

“Pardon to you too, Miss!” With a bit of a sneer on his face and Clarke digs her fingernails into Wells’ shoulder to quiet him. They break eye contact and she turns away, grumbling something to the man next to her who is carrying her luggage. She walks away without a second glance.

“Bloody fuckin’ rich people,” Wells murmurs and Clarke doesn’t respond to him. She watches the girl walk down the corridor, away from them, not once looking back.

“How many of those do you think she’s got?” Clarke asks, her eyes still not leaving the corridor the girl travelled down.

“What, ridiculous hats or butlers?” Wells asks and Clarke smirks.

“Both,” She clarifies.

“More than you do,” He starts, waving a hand in front of her face. “Snap out of it. Let’s go wave goodbye to this pisspot of a country,” He suggests, gripping hard into her shoulder. She nods.

“Yeah, alright,” She replies and they turn, running up the grand staircase, to what they assume is the exit to the deck. They’re correct. There’s people packed against each other like sardines in a jar but Clarke and Wells manage to fight their way to a railing. Clarke figures it’s because she’s so small and because Wells….isn’t.

(She knows it’s likely that people cleared away from Wells because he’s a large black man but the thought of that makes her so sick she can’t think about it. So she pretends it’s simply because of his stature.)

They both grip the railing, Clarke leaning over it. She waves with a middle finger stuck in the air as the ship starts to move. “It’s been a pleasure, see you never!” Clarke yells over the railing, laughing to herself as she sees the scandalized faces of the people who notice exactly what finger she’s saluting the town with.

She hears her Mother’s voice in the back of her head, telling her how improper it is to have _that_ finger standing alone. How impolite. How dispicable.

Now, she figures, that’s all the more reason to do it.

The more uptight people she offends, the better off she’ll be. She has no desire to impress anybody, not anymore. Especially people she’s never going to see again. She’s been over the idea of propriety for years. She isn’t about to let it catch up with her now.

The boat begins to move and slowly, the people on the dock become the sardines, too small for Clarke to even see, and the deck clears out.

She doesn’t leave though. Not yet.

The view is too pretty to give up.

-

The suite is beautiful.

Not that she’d ever dare tell that to Finn.

But it is. The woodwork is exquisite and it’s barely anything less extravagant than her bedroom at home.

It is, of course, lacking any kind of decoration.

The walls are bare and Lexa can’t stand the blandness of the room. She points the butler who brought her things up toward the box full of paintings that she’s brought with her. “Help me hang these,” She says. He nods.

“Of course, Miss,” He says and Lexa wonders if he’s able to say anything else or if he’s been hypnotized to only be agreeable. She thinks that maybe this is what her Mother and Finn wish she was like. Someone who was only able to agree with them. Never able to fight back.

(Not that she’d been doing much fighting back at all - she knows there’s no use.)

She’s got a Picasso painting in her hands. She stares at the walls, trying to find the best place for it. It’s a personal favorite, mostly abstract, but there’s something about it that speaks to her. Maybe it’s the way it looks like how a dream feels. It brings her away from reality, for just a moment.

She may lack the skills to create art but she has a mind sharp enough to appreciate it, as much as Finn and her Mother wish that she didn’t.

Finn walks into the room, cigar in his hands. He glares down at the painting Lexa is holding. “Is there a reason you decided to bring those glorified puddles with us?” He asks and Lexa’s jaw clenches.

“They’re quite lovely to look at,” Lexa starts, glancing at Finn through a curtain of her hair, “Unlike some other things that were stowed away and taken with us,” She finishes, looking pointedly at Finn. She may not be able to outright say anything to him but she figures the subtleties hurt just as much. At least, they’re a wound to his pride.

He steps up next to her and he rests a hand on her waist. Lexa freezes. His hand drags down her side, resting on her hip and squeezing. Lexa squeezes her eyes closed. His hand feels horrid against her. It feels intrusive and as if seaweed were dragging against her body (though she’d prefer that to his hand). He leans down, kissing the space where her neck meets her shoulder. She shudders. She wishes he’d back off. Stay away. She knows he won’t. “My beautiful Lexa,” He begins and Lexa twitches at the word _my_. She’s not his. She’s never been anybody’s and she’ll never be his. Never. Even when the wedding band is circling her finger, cutting off her circulation, she will never belong to him. “I would watch your tone. You and I both know how...unfortunate it would be for you if this engagement were to fall through,” He says, his mouth traveling up and planting another kiss just below her jaw line. She keeps her eyes closed. He finally pulls back, still keeping a commanding hand on her hip. “Put that thing in the wardrobe, where I don’t have to see it,” He says, glancing back at her once more before walking away.

Lexa lets out a long breath.

She feels as if she has to take a shower to wash him off of her.

She wishes her Mother could have picked a better man (or better yet, not a man at all).

But money is money and she understands the position that her family is in. She knows what position she’s in.

She has to do this. She won’t love it. She won’t love Finn. But she’ll do it.

Because if she doesn’t, it isn’t only her life on the line, but Costia’s. And she can’t risk her life. Not anymore than she already has. She’s done enough to damage to Costia to last a lifetime and more. She won’t be responsible for her death because she’s unable to keep a promise to her Mother.

But she can hang this painting, right in the middle of the sitting room, where Finn has to see it. She might not be able to fight back but she can yank the chain, just enough so he _knows_ he doesn’t own her.

And he never, ever will.

-

“What do you think, Wells? Not too shabby?” Clarke says as they sling their satchels onto their respective bunks. There are two men already in the room and Clarke suspects they’re a bit struck dumb by the fact that they’re sharing quarters with a _girl_. She knows the hallways are typically separated by gender, save for the cases of families and children, so this is a mens only hall.

But they won their tickets from two men. Clarke didn’t expect any less. And she’s not quite apt to care.

Wells looks at her with a grin, “It’s not the worst place I’ve ever slept,” He replies and Clarke grins back.

Wells has been her biggest ally since she’s been overseas. She met him in France, a lone Englishman trying to speak to the bellhop at a hotel, begging for a place to stay but the language barrier was only the _first_ thing to prevent him from getting a room. Clarke had stepped in, speaking in beautiful, nearly fluent, French to get Wells’ request across.

And Clarke is a pretty girl. She’s found that people find it difficult to say no to a pretty girl who speaks their language. She knows what she has and she makes it work for herself. There’s no way she’d have made it, trekking through a foreign country with only the clothes on her back, without _using_ everything she has to her advantage.

She made most of her money drawing, though often times she’d have to pretend to be a man to even attract subjects. It’s how she’d become so accustomed to walking like a man, playing poker like a man, fuck, even spitting like a man.

She’d learned the tools of her trade quickly enough. She’d pretended to a mute artist, knowing her voice would give her away immediately. With her face hidden beneath the brim of a cap, many of her overly feminine qualities were hidden. She’d passed well for your average, everyday male.

The mannerisms were a bit harder to capture but all she had to do was pretend she owned the ground she walked on, despite being penniless and wearing a shirt that looked as if it’d been used to clean the floor of a brothel.

She and Wells came to an agreement pretty early on in their relationship. She drew, he spoke. She gave him a cut of what she was paid, which wasn’t much but it was….livable. As long as they stuck together, they’d make it anywhere.

They’d made it around Paris, finally running out of prostitutes to paint and unable to land any clients of higher monetary substance.

And the artist market is…..tough in good ol’ Paris. Everybody wants to make it there. Not everybody can. She’d been to many, many appraisers in an effort to sell something, but nothing had ever been appraised over twenty and it’s hardly worth it to sell for so little.

It takes something out of you, being told that your work isn’t worth anything. And she came, she tried, she nearly conquered, but in the end, it just wasn’t a success.

She, by no means, is giving up on the dream of being an artist but standards are lower in the homeland. They always had been. Clarke had just figured that the French would have a finer appreciation for what she was doing. Clearly, she had been wrong.

But it’s fine, it really is. She’s going to be fine.

Everything has a way of working on in the end. She knows that.

(Even if the idea is getting harder and harder to hold onto - it has to be true. It has to be.)

She grabs her sketchbook from her kit. It’s one of the only things she has to her name and the idea of losing it, or leaving it behind is almost worse than the thought of losing a limb (as long as it wasn’t her drawing hand). There’s barely any shaking beneath her feet, something of a shock to her. The boat she’d came in on had been smaller, shakier, and she’d spent the whole journey seasick. This time? Nothing.

She knows how...luxurious this ship claimed to be. How high end everything was. She knew that even the third class bunks she slept on were more valuable than her entire life.

But while she was here, she might as well act like she belonged there. Like this ship was as much hers as the woman’s she’d walked into this afternoon.

And that means saying ‘fuck it’ to the separation of the decks. That she had every goddamn right to be on the top deck as the people who are more than likely criminals and swindlers. At least she was (mostly) honest about everything she’d done. She doubted she could say the same about any of these people.

She walks with her head down. Most people she passes don’t even spare her a second glance. Part of her is tempted to spit on their shoes since you know, she is invisible. The other part of her, the part that still feels the tightness of a corset on her ribs, knows better. Spitting on the shoes of these people, no matter how long she’s desired to do so, won’t do any good. It’ll just make her enemies and she doesn’t have the desire to deal with upturned noses and sidelong glances from behind a fan.

The sun is beginning to set and the top deck is nearly empty. She figures the rich and wonderful are all in their staterooms, unpacking their thousands of dollars in possessions that they absolutely _had_ to bring on their transatlantic journey.

She reaches the bow of the ship and she’s the only one there. Her sketchbook is shoved underneath one of her suspenders, into the waistline of her pants. She closes her eyes. The air smells like salt and feels a bit like freedom. While on this boat, there is nothing she has to be besides Clarke Griffin. She doesn’t have to pretend to be a mute with her hat pulled over her head to get work. Not here.

There’s a smile on her face, a real one - one she hasn’t been able to produce in months. But here, on this beautiful boat, nothing in view on either side of her but ocean, she can’t do anything _but_ smile.

A gust of wind blows and hits her right in the face, blowing her cap off of her head. She tries to reach it before it blows away but she doesn’t quite manage. She whips around, hoping to catch it. When she does, she sees the cap caught between two very delicate, very beautiful hands. Clarke’s eyes travel up.

It’s the girl from the entrance. Standing across from her with a small smile on her face. “Did you lose this?” She asks, an eyebrow quirked. Clarke swallows.

Oh no.


	2. when you're close i feel like coming undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning in this chapter for some emotional abuse.

Her eyes look even more like precious jewelry up close. Like an exquisite stone of jade, glistening in the light of the sun. Clarke’s voice is stuck in her throat. It’s not like she’s never seen a pretty woman before - her sketch book is more than evidence that she most certainly has, but there’s something about  _ this  _ pretty woman that makes the words so difficult to force out.

She drags her fingers along the edges of the cap. “Strange, I have always thought these caps to be rather masculine,” she says, almost to herself. “But I suppose it suits you,” she continues. She holds the cap out in front of her and lets it dangle from her fingers. Clarke reaches out and takes it back from her. She fixes it back on her head, no longer bothering to tuck her ponytail or any of the stray hairs back beneath the cap. Still, she’s unable to speak.

With the cap securely back on her head, there’s a moment of recognition in the girl’s eyes. She opens her mouth to say something when from behind her, there’s a call of, “Clarke!” And her eyes finally break away from the girl in the pretty dress and over to Wells, who is walking briskly over to her, tension in his eyes at the sight of the pinstriped dress. He moves to Clarke’s side and the girl is looking down at her feet. She glances up once more. With a nod toward Clarke, she walks away.

Clarke turns to Wells. With a glare in her eyes, she tightens her fist and knocks him on the shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” She hisses. Wells begins to laugh.

“You can’t be serious, Clarke. Her?” He says, mirth still lighting his voice. Clarke lifts her chin and straightens up.

“Why not her?” She replies defiantly. Wells, finally able to see that she’s being quite serious, stops laughing.

“I’ve seen you seduce your fair share of women above your station,” he pauses and wraps his arm around Clarke’s shoulders. He points to the direction that the girl had walked. “That? Too high even for you, tree climber,” he finishes. She doesn’t want to admit that he’s likely right. She’s the sort of girl whose shoes Clarke cleans. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Sometimes, you have to remember where you came from.

She shrugs Wells’ arm off of her shoulder. “What’d you come here for anyway?” she asks.

“Wanted to explore the ship. Couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” He teases and Clarke shrugs.

“You could,” she responds slyly and he knocks her lightly with his elbow.

They watch passengers pass who are dressed in clothing that likely cost more money than Clarke’s ever seen in her life and they pretend like they belong. They pretend their shirts aren’t smudged with charcoal and dirt. They pretend that they’re more than they are. 

(It’s how you get by - Clarke’s an expert at it by now.)

They hang on the ledge of the boat, watching Southampton disappear. Clarke feels the salty air hit her cheeks and she thinks that maybe a life at sea wouldn’t be so bad.

-

She’s already late for lunch when she stops at the bow and ends up with a cap in her hands.

She runs through the encounter over and over again in her head, attempting to calm her heartbeat, as she makes her way into the dining area. Everyone else is already seated. She knows where her spot is, flanked by Finn and her Mother. She pauses before she sits, “My apologies for my tardiness,” she excuses before sitting and unfolding her napkin into her lap. It doesn’t take more than a moment before Finn grabs her knee from underneath the table.

“Where were you?” He hisses and Lexa bites down on her lip.

“Taking a walk,” she whispers back. She looks up, barely opening her mouth as she harshly continues, “I was unaware I had to request permission to peruse the deck,” she plants a fake smile on her face as she notices the man across from them staring. She knows he won’t say anything now that she’s drawn attention to them so instead he smiles and releases her knee. He gives her a look that she knows to mean ‘we’ll be discussing this later’. She tunes her attention to the conversation happening at the other end of the table.

“Of course, it was my idea to build her, but I ought to give credit where credit is due here. Mr. Andrews was entirely in charge of the construction,” says Mr. Ismay from his spot at the head of the table. There’s a round of polite smiles and the loud woman sitting next to him laughs out loud. 

“You know, there ought to be to be something said for the fact that ships all go by she,” she begins and Lexa feels her fist clenching. “Too strong and powerful to be called he, I reckon,” she continues and Lexa’s hand goes soft. She smiles down to her, ignoring her Mother’s disdainful frown. There’s a tense silence at the table, which is only broken when the waiter stops at the table.

“Are you ready to place your orders?” he says cheerfully, clearly unable to detect the tension he had just interrupted.

“Yes, our missing guest has finally decided to grace us with her presence, so we are quite ready,” her Mother says with a smile that feels like poison.

“May I begin with you, Mrs.?” he asks and she simply orders tea. Lexa is taking a last look at the menu, presuming that he’ll be coming to her next when Finn begins to speak.

“She and I will both be taking the lamb,” he says, grabbing the menu harshly from Lexa’s hands. She widens her eyes and is about to open her mouth to protest when a quiet hand on her shoulder stops her from doing so. She’s reminded again of the ring on her finger and the weight it carries. So she closes her mouth and simply nods. The woman, Molly, again laughs robustly.

“I sure hope you don’t plan on chewing her food for her too,” she says to Finn and silently, Lexa thanks her. She tries to convey the message with her eyes. Molly gives an imperceptible nod and Lexa knows that she understands.

The conversation continues to flow and Lexa continues to stay quiet.

In lieu of speaking, Lexa pulls a cannister of cigarettes from her pocket. She manages to strike a match and light it before anybody takes notice. It’s against her lips and she takes a long drag when her Mother’s eyes go wide. “Alexandria!” She exclaims, very clearly scandalized. She quirks an eyebrow. “Put that out right this instant!” She commands.

Frustrated, and feeling more trapped in here than she ever could have imagined, she blows the smoke out. Right into her Mother’s face. She hears muffled laughter from the end of the table where Molly is sitting and a sharp intake of breath from Finn. “As you wish,” she acquiesces, tossing the cigarette into the cup of water sitting in front of her. She stands. “If you would excuse me,” she says to the rest of the table and pushes her chair back into the table. She walks away before anybody else has a chance to get a word in.

Back out on the deck, she feels like she’s able to breathe. She walks to the edge and grips the railing tightly. The deck looks out only onto the lower deck and for a fleeting moment, she wishes that she was looking down at only the waves. Instead, she’s staring at people.

People who look to be a hell of a lot more free than she is.

-

She moved below deck with Wells when the glares became too much for either of them to handle.

She has her sketch book open and a pretty girl in front of her. She’s blonde and Clarke thinks she said her name was Niylah. She’s good looking enough and she smiles at Clarke in a way that she’s come to recognize to mean ‘I want what you want’. She’s just as poor as Clarke is and far from unreachable. Wells gives her a smile and Clarke decides she ought to forget about that girl.  _ This  _ girl is in front of her and Clarke doubts she’d say no if they were pressed together with a few brews between them.

She’s shading in her cheekbone, looking up and squinting into the sun, when she sees her.

She’s gripping the the railing so tightly that even Clarke can see her knuckles go white. She’s looking down at the little girl dancing with her Father, stepping on the top of his feet. Clarke quickly flips the page. Eyes trained on her, Clarke begins to sketch. Her eyes are unfocused so Clarke doubts she'll be caught and even if she were, Clarke doesn't think she'd quite mind. Clarke's hand is moving at lightning speed, attempting to capture her in this candid, honest way before she moves and Clarke has to forget her.

She's nearly finished, the sketch messy and far from the refined work she usually produces, when the girl looks up from the railing. She catches Clarke's eye and she smiles. Clarke feels her stomach fall to her toes. Clarke thinks maybe she's going to come down when a man appears behind her, gripping her shoulder. His face is harsh and she watches the smile fade from the girl’s face. It melts into a grimace and without a second look, she turns away, following the man. Clarke lets out a long breath. She shifts her focus back to Niylah, who is being entertained by Wells.

Clarke moves to turn the page again, back to her drawing of Niylah, but she pauses. Despite the desperation of the pencil strokes, Clarke still thinks it’s one of the better things she drawn.

-

Finn’s hands feel like cold clay against her arm, which he’s gripping quite tightly. They’re back in their stateroom, Finn’s face flushes red with anger. “How dare you embarrass me like that?” He spits. Lexa straightens her back. She looks past him.

“My apologies,” she mumbles, voice barely more than a whisper. Finn lifts his chin with a challenge in his eyes.

“Speak up,” he commands. She wants to swallow the words. She wants to keep them in the back of her throat and hurl them out at him with more power than she possesses. But she can’t. She has to be good. She has to make this work. So louder, she repeats,

“My apologies,” with as much sincerity as she could muster. Finn’s face splits into a grin. He takes a step toward Lexa, who instinctively takes a step back. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Darling, there’s no need to be afraid of me,” he whispers.  He brings his hand up to Lexa’s cheek, dragging a finger smoothly across her cheekbone. Lexa shivers. “I’m rescuing you, damsel, be grateful,” he finishes, sending a chill down Lexa’s spine. Lexa clenches her jaw.  _ You don’t own me _ , she thinks. She knows she can’t say it.

“Thank you,” she replies, her voice shaky. He moves closer yet.

“There, that’s all I needed to hear,” he says, leaning in. His lips fall to the corner of her mouth as she turns her head last minute. He pulls back, finally moving away from her. “We’re going to married soon, Alexandria, and then you won’t be able to refuse me,” he says, rather gleefully. Lexa refuses to look at him. “Make sure you’re ready for dinner,” he says resignedly, exiting the room. The moment he does, Lexa collapses to the bed. Her breathing is heavy and labored. Tears sting at the back of her eyes and she doesn’t bother to stop them from falling.

She’s not sure how long she sits on the bed, sobbing, but just as the tears have begun to slow, her Mother pushes open the door. She flashes Lexa a look of disapproval. “Go wash your face, Alexandria,” is all that she says. “Our dinner reservations are promptly at 5. Dress nicely and please be on time,” her Mother nearly pleads. Lexa simply nods. Her Mother exits the room and Lexa is left sitting on the bed to think.

Not a single person on this boat, perhaps even on this  _ planet _ , cares a lick about her.

-

Night has finally fallen and Clarke can’t help but be enraptured by the stars.

She’s always loved the night sky. The moon, the position of the stars, the way that they glow, it’s the same no matter where you are. It provides a sense of universal comfort, at least to her. She can be anywhere and look up at the sky, the same sky she’s seen everywhere that she’s been, and every anxiety melts away. Besides, the stars don’t care if you’re a failure. That one’s just a fault of humanity.

And she knows failure is subjective - but she’s poor and she stands to make next to no money in the foreseeable future. If that’s not failure, she’s not sure what is.

Her hands are interlaced, resting behind her head. She’s alone - Wells sleeping the day off. Her eyes are drifting closed when she hears the familiar clack clack clack of heels running across the deck behind her. She sits up, head whipping in the direction of the heels.

It’s her.

Immediately, Clarke stands, following the path she had traveled.

She’s standing on the wrong side of the railings when Clarke finally catches up to her. Her curls are flying out of her elegant bun. Her arms are outstretched as she stares down at the water. Clarke’s heart is in her throat. “Don’t do it,” she calls from her spot nearly ten feet away back. Her head snaps up and she looks behind her. Her eyes clench tightly shut.

“Please leave,” she says quite calmly for someone who’s dangling over the edge of a ship. “I’m quite busy right now,” she continues, a hitch in her voice.

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke replies and she takes another step toward her. “But, and pardon me for being presumptuous, I think you’re about to make a very big mistake,” Clarke continues. She notices, for the first time, the tears flowing from the girl’s eyes.

“You can’t-you don’t,” she pauses. “I’m sorry but you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally forces out, looking back down at the water.

“I do. I do know what I’m talking about. And I don’t think you’re really going to do this, so take my hand,” Clarke says, within arms distance, so she holds out her hand. The girl’s head snaps back again.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing,” she shoots back and Clarke shrugs.

“If you were going to jump,” and the girl flinches when Clarke says jump, “you would have done it already. Whether I was here or not,” Clarke finishes, wiggling her fingers. The girl lets go with one arm and Clarke thinks she’s really going to do it and her stomach sinks. However, her hand just goes to her eyes as she wipes the tears from them. She does, however, wobble as if she were losing her balance.

“Can you please leave?” she asks Clarke and she shakes her head.

“No can do. See, I’m invested in this now. I have to know the outcome,” Clarke explains. Lexa shakes her head.

“No, you don’t. You don’t know me. I have to do this,” she says, eyes still focused on the water below her. Clarke shrugs.

“Fine,” she leans down and begins to take off her shoes. “Then I’m coming in after you,” Clarke resignedly says. And really, she’s gotta hope that she’s right about this girl. That she won’t really jump because Clarke isn’t truly prepared to thrust herself off the bow of a boat for a pretty girl. She is, however, quite prepared to play off of her empathy.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the girl shoots back. Clarke shrugs.

“I’m a good swimmer,” she responds and the girl sobs loudly. “But the cold, that’s going to be the killer,” Clarke continues, “No pun intended,” she adds, trying not to laugh because now really is not the time. The girl glares at her. “Sorry, not funny,” Clarke amends. The girl looks at her, then back down at the water. 

“H-how cold?” She asks, stuttering slightly. Clarke shrugs (and she feels like she’s doing an awful lot of that).

“Freezing. Could even be below,” she replies. The girl shivers and Clarke’s not sure if that’s because of the information she had just passed on or because of the cold air hitting her bare shoulders. “Water that cold, it’s paralyzing. I once fell in a frozen lake. I could feel the aftershocks for hours. But you know, if you jump, I have to as well,” Clarke continues.

“You’re insane,” the girl whispers.

“I’ve been told. But Miss. with all possible respect, I’m not the one hanging off the edge of the ship,” Clarke comments. She takes another step toward her. She’s close now. “Come on, take my hand,” Clarke begs and they finally make eye contact. The girl swallows. Then she nods. She starts to turn, putting her hand in Clarke’s.  _ Finally _ , Clarke thinks. “Thank you for saving me from jumping into the freezing cold water…” Clarke trails off and she figures now is as good a time as any to finally get this girl’s name. Her teeth are chattering and she keeps looking back down at the water, now in fear.

“Alexandria. Lexa,” she answers and Clarke lets the name flow through her. Lexa. It fits.

(Quite like the way her hand fits in her palm but she’s very determinedly not focusing on that.)

Lexa is fully facing Clarke now and Clarke is ready to pull her over, when suddenly Lexa slips. Clarke’s heart jumps into her throat and her eyes go wide. “Hold on to me Lexa, don’t let go,” Clarke yells and suddenly the wind is quite loud and so is the blood flowing to her brain because she swears she can hear it. Are her palms sweaty? She hopes they aren’t. She can’t let her fall. Not now. Not after she’d gotten her back from the edge. She needed her back on the deck. Lexa’s eyes are wide and she’s gripping Clarke’s hand tightly.

Clarke uses every ounce of strength in her body to pull Lexa up. She’s trying, working, doing  _ everything  _ she can to get her back here. Her heart is still racing. Finally, after what seems like hours, her strength pulls through and Lexa is back on the deck. On top of her. Clarke is smiling and Lexa’s face is nearly as red as her dress.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers, though she doesn’t move. Clarke’s hand landed on her hip and she’s not sure if she should move it or not.

“You’re alright,” Clarke whispers back and their eyes meet. Clarke thinks maybe…. _ maybe _ .

“What’s going on here?” comes a shout from top of the stairs. Suddenly, Lexa is pushing away from her and standing back up on her feet. Clarke is still on the ground, though she’s pushed herself up onto her elbows.

Shit.

-

She’d been out of her head when she’d run to the bow of the ship. She’d felt suffocated and trapped and the weight of the ring on her finger was almost too much to bear.

So she ran. She ran as far as she could until she couldn’t run anymore. Then she decided that if she couldn’t run, then she could jump. She could jump and then she could be free.

And then there was Clarke. The girl with the newsboy cap who continues to take her by surprise. She talked a lot of crazy but she did just enough for Lexa to pull back. She doesn’t know why she did. If she’d jumped, she wouldn’t have to marry Finn. She could be free. But there was something about the way Clarke was looking at her and the sincerity in her voice that tempted her back onto the deck. Nobody had ever spoken to her with that much care. Maybe that was it. But it was a temporary fix.

She’s back in Finn’s arms. Clarke is glaring at the man holding her hands behind her back. She wants to speak up but everyone has been speaking over each other since they were discovered. It was assumed that Clarke was attempting to rob Lexa, a story which of course, brought Finn out to ensure that his property was still in tact. Lexa’s teeth are still chattering and Finn’s arm feels heavy around her shoulders. She’s watching Clarke with careful eyes. Finn is still speaking to the man who had caught them and Lexa hears someone mention jail and finally, Lexa can’t stay quiet anymore. “She wasn’t trying to steal from me,” Lexa says with as much strength as she had left in her body. The attention is turned toward her. Finn looks at her.

“What? Then what did happen, love?” He asks and Lexa flinches, hopefully not too visibly, at his use of the pet name. She takes a deep breath.

“I...I was leaning over to view the propellers and I slipped,” Lexa murmurs and Finn’s eyebrows furrow. She knows the story is far from believable but it’s the only thing that she was able to come up with so last minute. Clarke’s raising an eyebrow but Lexa begs with her eyes for her to go with it. The man holding onto Clarke grunts.

“Was that the way of it?” he asks her and she nods.

“Yes, sir. Happened exactly as she outlined,” Clarke confirms. Reluctantly, the man lets Clarke go. Clarke shoots a wink toward Lexa, letting her know that her secret is perfectly safe with her. Lexa mouths ‘thank you’ to her. Finn is rubbing her bare shoulder and Lexa wants to throw up.

“You are freezing. Come, let’s get you inside so you can warm up,” Finn comments and she would rather not spend any time alone with Finn so she clears her throat.

“Are you not going to give her any sort of reward for saving my life?” Lexa prompts and gestures toward Clarke, who is looking at her shoes, which are still rather far from where she’s standing. She glances up, eyes wide. Lexa watches as Finn scans the length of Clarke, disgust curling the top of his lip. She’s dirty, dirt smudged on her nose and all over her shirt. Lexa knows the way Finn views those he perceives to be less than. She’s been on the receiving end of it more times than she can count. But Clarke deserves something. He rustles through his pocket and pulls a crisp, 20 pound note from his pocket. He holds it out.

“That ought to cover it,” he says, clearing his throat. Clarke glances at Lexa and then takes a step forward to collect it. Lexa reaches out and lowers Finn’s arm.

“I would think the life of your fiancee was worth more than that, Finn,” She comments and there’s confidence in her voice that she hasn’t heard in years. Finn glances at her with harshness in his eyes. Suddenly, she wishes she’d never spoken. He looks back at Clarke, eyes sweeping the length of her body. She’s standing quite uncomfortably in front of them. Suddenly, there’s a light in Finn’s eyes that Lexa knows is dangerous. He grins.

“Come to dinner tomorrow evening. Regale our entourage with your heroic tale,” He offers and there’s a challenge in his eyes. Clarke meets his gaze and matches his intensity. She nods.

“That would be lovely,” she accepts and she still doesn’t back down from his stare. Finally, Finn looks away and turns back toward Lexa.

“Let’s go,” he says and it’s a command this time. She nods. As Finn begins to lead her away, she turns back and glances toward Clarke, who is watching them retreat. She smiles, just slightly, but Clarke smiles back and suddenly, she’s quite glad she didn’t jump.

-

She’s not entirely sure why she said yes. She knows it would have been best for everybody if she’d declined the invitation but there was something in her that fired up when she saw the way Finn clutched Lexa’s shoulder. It wasn’t protective - it was possessive. He touched her like he owned her. Like she wasn’t a person but instead property. And it made her sick.

She knows what it feels like to live under the thumb of a man who presumed to own you. Back when she was the one wearing corsets and appeasing society, she’d had a fiance who touched her just the way Finn touched Lexa. Grabbed her and told her that  _ he  _ owned her. It was that that was the final straw in her decision to leave. She’d taken off her ring, deciding that a life as an unhappy wife, a slave to the cult of domesticity, was not for her. She had dreams and she’d earned the right to pursue them. She’d had no support from her Mother and she hasn’t spoken to her since she’d left. But she wouldn’t have done things any other way.

So she understands Lexa. In a way that Finn most certainly doesn’t. And Clarke can bury the attraction she feels toward her. Because she’s wrapped up in this girl now - more than she’d been caught up in anybody. She cares for her safety and as long as they were on this boat together, she’d make sure she was safe.

So she agreed to a dinner party with guests who are all above her station. She’s penniless, without a single item of quality to her name. She can’t show up to this thing in her charcoal smudged shirt and suspenders, though she wishes that she could. She’s going to be uncomfortable, there’s no way around that.

God, what was she going to wear?

She’s avoiding Wells, unwilling to tell him what happened last night, lest he bring her back to reality. She’s living with her head in the clouds, she knows that, but she doesn’t need someone to remind her. And besides, she wants to live mile high a little while longer.

The sun is shining and Clarke is drawing a portrait of the little girl who had been dancing with her Father yesterday. Her name is Charlotte and she’s quite sweet. She’d attached herself to Clarke early this morning, when she’d come out to sketch, and hasn’t let go since. She’s about six and Clarke has always been quite good with children. “Stay still, Charlotte, I’ve almost got it,” she says, urging Charlotte to stop twitching, though she understands how difficult it is for young children to stay still. She’d never been good at it. Clarke’s tongue is poking out from between her lips and she’s focused on getting the crinkle in her forehead just right.

“You’re really quite talented,” comes a voice from behind her and Clarke jumps. Charlotte laughs and Clarke shoots her a half-assed glare and she continues to giggle. Clarke looks behind her at Lexa, who is wearing a dress of pale yellow that accentuates her skin color. Clarke smirks.

“Thank you,” she says to Lexa. She turns back to Charlotte and continues, “It’s quite easy when I have such a lovely subject,” and Charlotte giggles some more. Clarke gives her a wink and pulls the paper from her sketchbook. She hands it to Charlotte. “Go give that to your Papa,” Clarke instructs and Charlotte nods, scurrying off to find her Father. Clarke now lets her attention flow fully to Lexa, who is glancing around at the people on deck, curiosity lighting up her eyes. Clarke’s glad to see that there’s no judgement in her eyes. Lexa gestures to the spot where Charlotte had previously been sitting.

“She seems very sweet,” Lexa comments and Clarke grins.

“Exceptionally. Always seems to want to dance,” she replies with a laugh. She stands, closing her sketchbook and tucking it into the waistband of her pants. “What are you doing down here?” Clarke has to ask because this isn’t the typical place you find a first class passenger. Lexa is looking at her with soft eyes.

“I came to thank you for last night,” she says, lowering her voice, nearly so much that Clarke has to lean in to hear what she’s saying. “I know that Finn extended you a dinner invitation in gratitude but I had to offer my own personal thanks,” Lexa continues. “You saved my life,” she states simply. Clarke shrugs.

“I just spoke to you, nothing more, nothing less,” Clarke attempts to explain away and Lexa shakes her head.

“Please, don’t dismiss what you’ve done for me, Clarke. I very much owe my life to you,” Lexa pushes and Clarke feels color flooding to her cheeks. She doesn’t know how she feels about having someone’s life owed to her. It seems like a lot of pressure.

“Don’t mention it,” Clarke responds and Lexa’s lips purse.

“Will you take a walk with me, Clarke?” Lexa asks and Clarke is hardly in any position to say no. Clarke tilts her head, indicating Lexa to lead the way. They make their way up the stairs and a silence falls between them. Clarke wonders just how she looks next to Lexa, who is dressed exquisitely. Clarke’s wearing the only semi-clean shirt that she owns, and still there are stains on it. It fits her poorly because it’s a men’s shirt and even her trousers are baggy. She doesn’t look like she belongs on the boat at all, let alone walking next to Lexa.

Lexa clears her throat. “I also want to thank you for keeping quiet about the true circumstances of our meeting,” she says awkwardly. Clarke shakes her head.

“I just followed your lead, Miss.” she dismisses and Lexa’s nose scrunches.

“Call me Lexa, please,” she instructs and Clarke nods.

“As you wish, Lexa,” Clarke replies and she swears she sees Lexa’s cheeks go red.

The deck is quite busy and they pass many people enjoying the sunshine as they walk together in silence. There’s a question burning at the back of Clarke’s throat, and she’s sure it’s not her place to ask, but her curiosity has never been something she’s been able to control. So she has to ask. “Why were you so ready to jump?” And Lexa pauses. She stops abruptly and Clarke follows her lead. She rests her arms on the railing in front of her and stares down at the dark blue of the water.

“I didn’t want to end my life, not really,” she begins. She takes a deep breath. “It was simply the only way I could think of to escape and in that moment, that’s all I wanted to do,” she finishes and as Clarke watches her, she sees the emptiness in her eyes. The lack of feeling. The lack of power.

“What do you need to escape from?” Clarke asks and the instant the words are out of her mouth, she knows that they were the wrong ones to say. There’s a guard in front of her eyes again and her shoulders have tensed.

“Right, because what could a poor little rich girl have to run away from?” She replies, quite defensively. Clarke’s eyes widen.

“Lexa, that’s not what I meant at all,” Clarke calmly explains. Lexa exhales. 

“There’s pressure coming at me from every angle. To act a certain way, to be a certain way. I’ve lived under the thumb of someone for so long, I hardly know what it feels like to be free. I felt like I had to know,” she explains, still looking down at the water. “I thought the paralyzing temperature of the water would….feel something like that,” she finishes with a shrug. Finally, she turns her gaze back to Clarke. She laughs but it’s short and self-deprecating. “That must sound terribly stupid,” she admits and Clarke shakes her head.

“Not at all. Being trapped feels awful. I understand your urge,” Clarke reassures and she can’t help herself - she raises a hand and rests it on Lexa’s bare forearm. Lexa looks up at her, something like surprise in her eyes but she doesn’t move her arm so Clarke doesn’t move her hand. Finally, Lexa shakes her head.

“Why were you out on the deck so late?” She asks, switching the topic. Clarke looks up at the clear sky, moving her hand away from Lexa’s arm and gestures up at the light blue.

“Enjoying the view,” she answers simply. “Never seen a clearer sky in my life. I wasn’t going to let it go to waste by sitting below deck,” she continues with a smile. Lexa is staring at her, a curious look in her eyes.

“That simple?” She asks and Clarke nods.

“That simple,” she replies. Lexa assumes a contemplative look again.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she begins, turning to face Clarke, who suddenly feels quite uncomfortable, “but your clothing choices are rather odd for a young woman,” she trails off then and Clarke knows what she asking without the question needing to be posed. She pulls the edge of her baggy top and lets it float back against her chest.

“I’m an artist. And you don’t make a lot of money as a female artist. Nobody respects you. So I started to dress like a man and act like a man and the business rolled in,” Clarke says, overexaggerating just slightly. The business never rolled, if anything it lightly bounced. But Clarke didn’t feel much like admitting to Lexa that she was a failure. She was sure that would end whatever camaraderie that had building up instantly. 

“That must have been frustrating, being unable to be yourself while pursuing your passion,” Lexa comments and she seems genuinely interested. Clarke shrugs.

“It wasn’t the greatest but you gotta do what you gotta do,” she explains and Lexa exhales loudly.

“That I understand,” she replies and then she goes quiet. There is yet another question burning in Clarke’s brain and it’s another that she shouldn’t ask but the silence feels like a window and her curiosity won’t leave her alone.

“I have another question for you, Lexa,” Clarke begins and Lexa turns her attention back to Clarke. She nods. “Your fiance. Do you love him?” She asks and Lexa’s eyes widen and she straightens her back again.

“O-of course I do. I’m not certain I know what would make you believe otherwise,” Lexa says, quite unconvincingly. Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“I see the way you look at him and the way he holds onto you. That’s possession, that’s not love,” Clarke softly says, attempting to make this sound less accusatory than she knows that it is. Lexa shakes her head.

“I do, I do l…” she trails off. “I do,” she repeats resolutely, regaining some of her composure, and Clarke shakes her head.

“You can’t even say it,” Clarke pushes. “If you loved him, you would be bursting at the seams to talk about him,” and Lexa’s nostrils flair then and she pushes off the railing.

“And I suppose you know everything there is to know about love? Did you find it while doodling in your sketchbook?” Lexa shoots back. “What else do you draw besides little girls?” She asks, her voice raising and before Clarke has a chance to realize what she’s doing, Lexa’s lunged for the sketchbook that’s tucked into the waistband of her pants.

Immediately, the color drains from Clarke’s cheeks. She knows that as soon as Lexa opens the book, she’ll find portrait after portrait of nude women. French prostitutes were often Clarke’s subjects of choice. Something about their rugged beauty captivated her. Something about the fact that they were the epitome of a dirty little secret made them all the more intriguing to her - considering they  _ were  _ her dirty little secret, as was her attraction to women.

And that was about to be completely exposed to a woman who wouldn’t understand.

Lexa opens the sketchbook and begins to flip through the pages. Her eyes are wide and she’s not saying anything. Clarke notices that she’s pausing every so often on a page, fingers lightly tracing lines. Her mouth is opening and closing, as if she can’t quite find the words to articulate what she wants to say. Clarke reads her eyes and there’s shock, there’s intrigue, but there’s no disgust. Not even a little. In fact, there’s something like understanding. Lexa’s eyes flutter closed and Clarke watches her swallow, the lump in her throat almost visible. Resoundly, she shuts the book and hands it back to Clarke. “I shouldn’t have taken this without your permission,” she murmurs and Clarke doesn’t know what to say because this isn’t how she expected to this to go. She expected Lexa to run away from her, terrified, because that’s what most people do. Instead, she’s looking at her with curiosity and dare she say it, hope. And as Lexa licks her lips when their fingers meet when Clarke reaches out to take it back, she realizes. The pieces fall into place and suddenly, Clarke  _ knows _ .

Lexa is just like her.

-

She shouldn’t have grabbed the book.

But she doesn’t regret doing it. Not for a second. Lexa’s never met anyone, besides Costia, who was like her. Who had the same feelings toward women that she did. Who admired the female form the way that she did.

And Clarke  _ does _ . It throws her at first. When she first opens the book, she thinks the first drawing is a fluke. But there are more and more just like it. Drawing after drawing of nude women, each different than the one before. It was, for a lack of a better term, eye opening.

She won’t admit it, not out loud, but there’s something in the way Clarke looks at her that tells her that she knows. That she understands. That Lexa doesn’t have to say a word because Clarke  _ gets it _ . After the book is firmly back underneath the elastic of Clarke’s suspenders, Lexa starts to ask questions. About her art, about where she came from, about Paris.

“Paris is the most magical city I’ve ever been to,” Clarke explains, light in her eyes. “No matter what time of day it is, there’s life. Something is always happening. I always was a fan of the night life. You met the most interesting people after polite society went to sleep,” Clarke says, grinning. Lexa watches her with interested eyes, urging her to continue. “Wells and I could do whatever we wanted. Drink in pubs until early morning. Sit in parks and talk to the homeless and hear their stories. There was nothing more liberating,” Clarke speaks so enthusiastically that it’s practically contagious. Lexa watches her as she speaks and feels warmth fill her veins. She’d be glad to listen to Clarke read an address book if she did it with that sort of enthusiasm.

“That sounds wonderful,” Lexa comments warmly, resting her chin on her palm, smiling up at Clarke. They’re standing quite close together, barely half an arm’s length between them, and Lexa continues to fight the urge to reach out and touch her. Clarke grins.

“It was,” she replies and then her smile fades, “But all good things come to an end, I suppose,” she continues and sighs. Lexa bites her lip.

“May I ask why you’ve decided to travel back to the United States?” Lexa asks, quite hesitantly. Clarke shrugs.

“Opportunity ran out. I couldn’t keep chasing nothing. I’m not quitting though. That’s not me. I think New York’s got something for me,” Clarke responds, keeping her eyes trained on Lexa, who looks down at her hands with a blush.

“I wonder if it has something for me,” Lexa ponders and Clarke moves in closer to her still. Strange, she feels no compulsion to move away. In fact, all she wants is to be closer.

“I think it’s got something for everybody who asks for it,” she responds, quite optimistically. Lexa looks out onto the water.

“I’m terrified of life after this ship comes to port,” Lexa admits. “You’re right, I don’t love him. It’s a marriage of convenience, arranged by my Mother. Our fortune is on the line if we don’t merge with another family that possesses considerable wealth. It’s a business transaction,” Lexa explains with a bitter laugh. “He controls everything that I do. What I wear, how I spend my time, and who I spend it with. The only reason I’m off of his leash on this journey is because there are bigger fish for him to impress,” Lexa finishes, tears clouding her tone. Clarke puts a hand on her arm again and it feels like fire.

“Life doesn’t have to be that way. You have autonomy. You can walk away,” Clarke tells her and Lexa shakes her head.

“Not without disappointing my entire family,” she mumbles.

“If your family truly cared about your wellbeing, or your feelings, they would allow you to choose who you wanted to marry,” Clarke impassionedly replies. Lexa nearly snorts now.

“Oh no. My Mother knows,” And Lexa gives Clarke a pointed look to ensure she knows exactly what it is her Mother has knowledge of, “And she uses it at every opportunity to be sure that I stay in this engagement. She’d tell everyone and I would be ruined,” And despite the fact that she wishes she didn’t, she cares about her reputation. It’s the only thing she has. Clarke’s hand slides down from her forearm to rest on her hand. Lexa feels her heartbeat accelerate.

“You could be yourself, Lexa. There’s part of the world that doesn’t care who you love. I know, I lived in it. I spent nights with men, women, sometimes both, and it was liberating to know that the people I surrounded myself with didn’t care who I went home with,” Clarke explains and it sounds absolutely wonderful. This underground place where she could hold the hand of a woman without fear of being...well, fear of being murdered. Where she could  _ kiss  _ a woman and never worry that her Mother will walk in on her. It sounds…...incredible. Like a dream. Unrealistic but lovely. She looks into Clarke’s eyes and for a moment, she believes that she could really have it. Maybe she could even hold Clarke’s hand.

“What’s it like? Being yourself?” Lexa asks quietly. Clarke tightens her grip on Lexa’s hand.

“Wonderful. There are always people who oppose you, oppose a woman on her own, but you learn to spit on their shoes and walk away,” Clarke replies with a smile. Lexa raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t mean that literally, do you?” Lexa attempts to clarify. Clarke laughs.

“Of course I mean literally. It’s a skill I developed quite early on while traveling alone. Came in handy more than once,” Clarke says and then she’s leaning back and making a strange noise with her throat. Then she’s leaning forward and out comes a giant wad of spit that travels quite some distance before falling and landing in the water. Lexa laughs then.

“I suppose I do understand how that would be a valuable skill,” she compliments.

“Want me to teach you?” Clarke asks and everything in her says  _ no  _ because it goes against every part of the way she was raised and maybe that’s exactly why she says yes.

She’s not sure how long they stand there, Lexa spitting straight down and Clarke laughing at her pathetic attempts. Finally, she manages to hock a decent one out and Clarke has a twinkle in her eye when she congratulates her.

“You’re made for city streets,” Clarke compliments and Lexa looks down, blushing.

“You’re too kind to me, Clarke,” Lexa brushes off and Clarke shakes her head.

“I suspect there haven’t many people who have been kind enough to you. I intend to be,” Clarke whispers and she’s very, very close. She knows she won’t do anything, not in public like this, but Lexa is overcome by how much she wishes that she could. How much her heart simply aches because she can’t just kiss Clarke. Lexa’s about to say something when from behind her there’s a clearing of a throat. They both whip around to find Lexa’s Mother, walking with Molly.

“What are you doing out here, Alexandria? You should be getting ready for the party,” her Mother comments and Lexa straightens up; again.

“I was discussing tonight’s affair with Clarke,” Lexa explains and she looks down at her feet. “I’ll go now,” She looks back at Clarke with a faded look in her eyes and she hope that Clarke understands that this is why she’s never going to be free. Never. It was nice to dream, but that’s all it would ever be. A dream. “I’ll see you tonight,” she bids Clarke farewell before scurrying away after her Mother.

-

Clarke watches her go and heaves a heavy sigh. “You ought to be more subtle there, newsboy,” says the woman who is still standing across from Clarke. She shakes her head, getting herself out of her stupor.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Clarke dismisses and the woman shakes her head.

“I got a daughter just like you. Killed for stepping out with a woman on her arm. I’m not stupid. You got a look in your eye I recognize,” And Clarke’s eyes go wide but there’s no judgment or disgust in the woman’s eyes, just sadness, Clarke supposes for her dead daughter. She doesn’t know what to say. She wants to deny it - deny that she’s looking at Lexa with any sort of affection but she can’t. She’s always put her heart in her eyes. It’s never been the best place for it but it’s the only place it fit. And Lexa makes her heart beat fast and her palms sweat. She makes her vision blur and pulls the rest of the world out of focus because there’s nothing else that Clarke can see. So she doesn’t say anything at all. “You’re coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you?” The woman asks and Clarke nods. “You aren’t going to be wearing that, are you? Cause it sure does not do you any favors,” she says as she looks Clarke up and down.

“I don’t have anything else,” Clarke mumbles and the woman snorts.

“You’re going to come with me. I think I might have something for you,” She announces. She starts to move. “I’m Molly, by the way,” she introduces herself and starts to walk away. Clarke has no choice but to follow. “You going to tell me your name, kid?” She asks and Clarke nods, trying to figure out how in any universe this happened to her.

“Clarke,” she says and Molly’s eyes are twinkling.

“Alright Clarke, let’s get you into something worthy of that girl.”

-

Finn is in the room when she gets there. Any bit of joy or leftover happiness she felt from her afternoon on the deck with Clarke drains from her when Finn looks up at her with that sick smile. “Come here,” he says gesturing to himself with two fingers. She does as he asks. He’s standing next to the bed, in front of the large vanity mirror. He’s holding a large black box, which Lexa side eyes. He moves to stand behind her once she’s near him. “I bought this before I left Paris. I was hoping to wait until we were off the boat to give it to you but now may just be the right moment,” he explains as he opens the box. Inside, rests a large heart shaped blue diamond, set on a chain of smaller diamonds. It’s beautiful. Breathtaking, actually.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lexa murmurs.

“Don’t say anything,” Finn replies and he takes the necklace out of the box. Slowly, he lays it on Lexa’s neck. It’s heavy and feels more like an anchor than a gift. Finn drags his hand across her chest and Lexa closes her eyes. God, she wishes he would stop touching her. “It looks stunning on you, Alexandria,” he compliments and he moves further in, kissing the base of her shoulder. She shivers and pulls away from him.

“I need to get ready,” she says as an excuse and Finn sighs. His hand is still on her shoulder and he grips it tightly. She inhales, holding her breath.

“Fine,” he says after a moment and he lets her go. Lexa lets out her breath. She waits for him to make another comment but he doesn’t. He simply walks out.

She figures, the necklace made enough of a statement on its own. There’s nothing that says ‘I own you’ more than a gift that’s worth more than everything you own. She takes it off as soon as she hears the door close. She puts it back in the box and turns toward the safe. She unlocks it and puts the box into it. She has no intention of wearing it. Not tonight. Not ever.

-

Clarke’s picking at the fabric on her dress and Molly slaps her hand. “Don’t ruin it. That’s worth more than you ever seen in your life,” Molly says, no malice in her voice, just truth. But Clarke can’t help it. Her heart’s in her throat and she swears she’s never been this nervous in her entire life. Molly had put in her in one of her dead daughter’s dresses. It happened to fit her like a glove. It’s blood red with cap sleeves and Molly wasn’t kidding when she said it was worth more than Clarke had seen in her life. The fabric was more exquisite and fine than she’d ever felt. She wears long white gloves to cover up most of the skin on her arms and her hair is tied up in a French twist.

Clarke is sure she’s never felt prettier.

Or more uncomfortable.

Clarke’s never been comfortable in dresses. She’s especially never been comfortable in extravagant dresses. Somehow, having Molly next to her made her feel better. Of course, her stomach is still churning and she thinks she’s about to vomit at any given moment, but Molly’s sense of humor keeps things light. And besides, she’s quite sweet. She’s brash and hardly the sort of woman high society appreciates, and Clarke’s sure that’s why she chose to help her. She’d gone on and on about how awful Finn was while they were getting ready, just confirming what Clarke had already known.

“You have got to stop fidgeting,” Molly says and Clarke tries to calm herself down.

“I can’t help it,” she responds through gritted teeth. Molly rolls her eyes.

“Well you better try your best because your girl is coming,’ she says, gesturing toward the grand staircase. Clarke turns around and sure enough, there is Lexa, descending the staircase on Finn’s arm. She’s dressed in long, sparkled, navy gown. Her hair is up, a few stray pieces framing her face. Clarke can’t stop her face from splitting into a large grin. “Go get her,” Molly whispers and Clarke is hardly paying attention because Lexa is  _ stunning _ . That’s the only word that comes close to being the right one. Lexa catches her eye and a small smile pulls at the side of her mouth. Finally, they reach the bottom of the stairs and Finn is looking at her, quite surprised.

“You certainly clean up quite nicely, Miss.” he compliments and Clarke nods.

“Thank you. As do you,” she replies, not looking at him, but rather at Lexa, who is staring back. Lexa turns to Finn.

“Shouldn’t you go talk to Mr. Ismay?” Lexa suggests and it’s clear to Clarke that this is as close to brushing him off as Lexa is going to get. He does nod though and he gives Lexa kiss on the cheek before departing. Clarke watches as she tries not to wince. Clarke takes a step closer to her.

“You look beautiful,” she says, putting as much sincerity and feeling behind it as she could because she wants Lexa to know that she means it. Lexa’s face nearly splits with the grin that pulls at her lips then and Clarke knows she understands.

“As do you,” Lexa whispers back. They continue to stand there, staring at each other, for a few moments too long. Finally, Clarke clears her throat.

“Well, are you going to tell me who all these people are before I start making things up?” Clarke asks with a quirked eyebrow. Lexa smiles and wraps an arm around Clarke’s elbow. Slowly, she starts pointing people out, each person hiding a secret more scandalous than the next.

“I had no idea British high society had so many secrets,” Clarke comments before they settle in for dinner. Lexa raises an eyebrow.

“We’ve barely scratched the surface, Clarke,” she says with a smirk.

They settle at the table, Clarke across from Lexa. She’s sat in between two men that she doesn’t know but she’s grateful she’s able to look at Lexa for the entire duration of dinner. Appetizers are served and Finn finally brings up the previous night. Clarke takes a deep breath as all eyes turn to her. “I was watching the stars and I heard a scream. Lexa over here had bent over the edge of the railing to view the propellers and she bent just a little too far. She slipped. I happened to be quite close so I was able to pull her back over. It was really nothing,” Clarke dismisses and Finn chuckles.

“Now, now, don’t dismiss your heroics, Clarke. You saved our Lexa’s life,” he says, putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her in closer to him. Clarke has to bite her tongue to keep herself from yelling at him not to touch her. It’s not her place and it never will be but she wishes she could. Finn hooks her with a cold stare. “Now tell me Clarke, what is it that you do?” And it strikes Clarke in that moment that he isn’t speaking to her like a woman - he’s talking to like competition. So Clarke straightens her back and puts on her most charming smile.

“I’m a freelancer. An artist,” she explains, glancing around the table, making sure to make eye contact with each person who is daring to look up at her. Most of the women are scandalized by the way Finn is speaking to her and the men are quite curious. Clarke decides that ultimately, this could work in her favor.

“And do you make much doing that?” Finn continues to inquire and Clarke grits her teeth. If he expects that she’ll back down, he’s foolish. If anything, he’s the one acting completely out of social order. The looks are being directed towards him.

“I make enough to get by. I find you don’t need a fortune to be happy. As long as you have the clothes on your back and people in your life who make you happy, you might as well be the richest person on earth,” Clarke explains calmly, her eyes shifting towards Lexa, who is staring at her with wide eyes. There’s an uncomfortable silence that falls over the table then. Nobody quite knows what to say. Nobody is willing to call Finn Collins out on inappropriate social behavior and yet, there’s no desire to bring the discussion off of Clarke either.

“What do you plan on doing after the ship comes to port, Miss. Griffin? Are you engaged?” The woman sitting next to Lexa, that Clarke recognizes her Mother, asks. Clarke can’t help but laugh.

“No ma’am. I remain untethered,” Clarke answers. She watches as the eyes around the table go wide and she continues before anyone else has the chance to say something. “I want to travel before I settle down. See what the rest of the states have to offer. I’ve been to a few but not enough. We only have so much time on this earth. I think we ought to make it count,” Clarke finishes and she’s met with nods of agreement from around the table. From the head, Molly raises her glass.

“To making it count,” she says with a twinkle in her eye and a smile. Everyone around the table raises a glass, except for Finn who is glowering at Clarke sourly.

“To making it count!” The table echoes and there’s warmth that spreads in her stomach now. She made it. And when she looks at Lexa to see her grinning, Clarke’s sure she’s never felt anything better.

-

Dinner ends and Lexa feels like she’s floating. Clarke made a good impression on nearly everybody, save for her Mother and Finn but Lexa can’t quite bring herself to care. Dessert has just ended and she knows it’s time for the men to retreat into a study for cigars and brandy. Clarke is speaking to Mr. Guggenheim when Finn stands to clear his throat. “Gentleman, would you like to join me in my study for some brandy?” he asks and the men around the table stand. Clarke remains seated, her eyes shifting back to Lexa. She also stands. Finn’s eyebrows raise and Clarke laughs.

“I don’t intend to join you. I ought to go back to my cabin,” she explains and Lexa watches the discomfort fade from Finn’s face. The men leave and Lexa stands as Clarke begins to leave the dining room.

“Do you have to leave?” Lexa asks with a frown. Clarke nods. She pulls at the fabric on her dress again.

“Time to turn my riches back into rags,” she replies with a sad smile. She puts her hands on Lexa’s shoulder and leans in, as if she’s giving her a small hug goodbye but her lips move to her ear, “Meet me by the clock. It’s time to make it count,” she whispers and then she pulls back. She gives Lexa a wink and begins to walk away.

Her Mother is engaged in deep conversation and Lexa wonders if she would notice if she slipped out.

She wants to - with every fiber in her being, and the longer she stares at her Mother, the stronger the desire grows. Her Mother never once looks up at her and Lexa decides that this time? This time she’s listening her heart. Her heart is pulling her towards Clarke and for once, she owes it to herself to listen. So without another glance at her Mother, she turns and walks out of the dining room.

She finds herself running up the stairs, hoping that she’s not too late. That Clarke didn’t decide she wasn’t worth waiting for.

She gets to the top of the staircase and there Clarke is, still dressed in her beautiful gown, waiting for her. She’s staring at the clock and breathlessly, Lexa calls, “Clarke!” and she turns around, a grin splitting her face. Lexa steps up to her, putting her hands on the crooks of Clarke’s elbows.

“You came,” Clarke whispers and Lexa nods.

“Of course, of course I came. I had to,” Lexa explains rushed. Clarke smiles. Her heart is racing and there’s color in her cheeks but not from embarrassment but from  _ happiness  _ and Lexa thinks she’s never felt like this before. Her stomach is in knots and she wants, more than anything, to kiss Clarke. She can’t, she knows she can’t, but the way Clarke is looking at her makes her wish that they were in that underground society where she could hold her and kiss her without fear.

“Come on,” Clarke says, pulling away for a moment.

“Where are you taking me?” Lexa asks, her breath slowly returning to her.

“To a real party,” Clarke says with a twinkle in her eye. She grabs her hand and starts to lead her away and as she does, Lexa doesn’t feel any sense of shame or discomfort. She only feels like this is exactly where she belongs.

They get below deck and Clarke is biting her lip. She pauses. “These are my people and I…” she trails off. “This is who I am,” Clarke explains and Lexa thinks she knows what she’s saying. She squeezes Clarke’s hand and she hopes that Clarke understands what she’s trying to say. She’d never judge her. Her opinion of her won’t change. Clarke smiles and then pushes open a door. Suddenly, there’s loud noise filling the hallway and Clarke’s eyebrows raise. “Ready?” Clarke asks and Lexa nods. She’s never been more ready for anything in her life.

Clarke pulls her in and Lexa watches as Clarke is greeted by person after person. The man Clarke had seen with her the first day comes up to her first and smirks at her. “I underestimated you, tree climber. Guess you could get to the top branch,” he says, clearly already very drunk. She laughs and leans into him, giving him a hug.

“You should know better by now Wells. I don’t stop til I get what I want,” she replies with a look toward Lexa, who looks down at her toes and blushes. “And what I want right now, is two pints,” she continues and Wells gestures towards the back. Clarke grabs Lexa’s hand again and pulls her along with her. She grabs to large glasses and hands one to her. “Let’s go find a place to sit,” Clarke says, leaning in to whisper in her ear. Lexa nods and she’s noticed that Clarke has yet to let go of her hand. They find a small table in a corner and sit quite close together. Clarke takes a large sip of her lager and Lexa watches her. Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever had a beer before?” Clarke asks and Lexa shakes her head. “Try it. It’s an acquired taste but it does the job,” Clarke urges and Lexa wraps her hands around the cup. She lifts it to her lips and takes a sip. Immediately, her nose wrinkles and Clarke laughs. Determined to acquire the taste, Lexa takes another sip, a larger one this time. It’s not as bad as the first but it’s still not great.

“It’s repulsive,” Lexa chokes out and Clarke tosses her head back in laughter. She licks her own lips and leans in close to Lexa.

“You uh, have some foam,” she pauses, gesturing to her top lip. Lexa moves her hand up to her face to remove it but Clarke beats her to it. She uses the pad of her thumb to wipe the foam right off of Lexa’s top lip. “There, all gone,” Clarke says with a smile.

“Thank you,” Lexa whispers and Clarke is leaning in quite close to her and in the dark of this corner, Lexa thinks this is the underground that they need.

But then there’s a loud voice from the front of the table. “Clarke! Dance with me!” And Clarke looks at Lexa with guilty eyes but she just smiles.

“Go,” she says and Clarke stands.

“I’ll be back,” She assures, putting a hand on her shoulder before walking out into the middle of the room with Charlotte. Lexa turns in her chair to watch her.

Charlotte stands on Clarke’s toes, similar to the way that she stood on her own Father’s toes and grinning up at Clarke. Her arms are wrapped around her torso and Clarke spins her around a few times and she buries her face in her stomach, giggling.

And there’s a feeling flowing through Lexa that she can’t put a name to but all she knows is that she wants Clarke for her own. She wants her now, she wants her tomorrow, she wants her when they get off the boat, and she wants her every single day after. She wouldn’t mind living dirt poor if she got to live with Clarke. Lexa’s smiling and it’s the brightest and biggest she’s had since she’s gotten on the boat when Clarke returns to the table. Lexa grabs her hand. “Let’s dance,” Lexa says to her and Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” She replies, confusion evident in her tone but still, she grabs Lexa’s hand and pulls her in close. They stay in their dark corner, pressed against each other, and Lexa thinks that this is what it feels like to have a home.

-

Lexa’s good and drunk and she’s showing up a group of tough men by standing on her tip toes. She collapses into Clarke’s arms, giggling and Clarke shakes her head. “You’re insane, Lexa,” Clarke whispers and Lexa just keeps giggling. The party is beginning to die down but Clarke doesn’t want the night to be over yet. She wants more time with Lexa.

Clarke is leaning against the edge of a table when a man she recognizes from down the hall approaches her. He’s clearly drunk when he tries to pull down the sleeve of Clarke’s dress. She pulls it back up swiftly, fire lighting up her eyes. She intends to tell him off but Lexa steps in front of her.

“You don’t get to touch her without her permission,” she spits and then man rolls his eyes.

“And what are you going to do about it, princess?” He slurs out in response and Clarke is ready to pull her back, in case he decides to get physical but there’s a determined look in Lexa’s eyes. She pulls her lips together and moves her head back. Then there’s a wad of saliva coming out of her mouth and she spits directly into his eye. Clarke’s eyes widen and she tries not to laugh as the man flinches. Lexa’s own eyes go wide as it becomes clear that even she can’t believe she’d done that. Before the man has a chance to react, Clarke’s grabbed Lexa by the wrist and pulled her out of the room. They run down the hall of the third class staterooms, giggling to each other. Finally, they come to a pause around a few corners. Lexa is out of breath, half from running, half from giggling and Clarke can’t help herself. She pushes her against the wall.

“You’re too fucking much, Lexa,” Clarke whispers and Lexa isn’t looking at her eyes. Instead she’s looking at her lips and she doesn’t dare hope.

“I couldn’t let him touch you. Not before I could,” Lexa murmurs.

And then she kisses her.


End file.
